Sirens wailed, filling Haustin's ears with their familiar call, and he clutched his helmet as the rig squealed around a corner, the scent of smoke tickling his nose and indicating they were close. Captain Welch had said the fire was bad. They were only there for containment, and before Engine 12 even lurched to a stop, Haustin opened the door and twisted to the right, getting his first glance of the six-floor building. It engulfed the top three stories in flame, lethal tongues lapping at nearby structures and igniting the late night sky. Damage control. Already, three engines and two ladders were on the scene, unable to contain the hungry monster, their flashing lights bouncing around the neighborhood.

Abel passed him his axe and as Haustin adjusted his grip, a flash of color caught his eye. Lifting his head, he surveyed the fiery windows. There. Third one from the right. Top floor.

A small, tear-streaked face blackened with soot stared down at them, coughing and frantically waving a green Incredible Hulk blanket. Flames crept out the top of the window, surrounding the child, a single face in a sea of angry orange. The only thing between them and the child was a deadly maze through five floors. He didn't give a damn how impossible it might seem, with a full head of steam and terror squeezing its fist around his heart, Haustin's feet were moving towards the front door before he even realized it. Abel and the captain blocked his path.

"Someone's up there!" he shouted.

"No one is allowed in. They just called it," the captain said.

"Bullshit. That's a kid!"

"There's no way to get up there," Abel yelled. "By the time they spotted him, it was too late. Stairs inside are gone. Look, the fire escape is broken, pieces of it are missing. We can't get the goddamn ladder close enough."

"Hammond tried, and he's in the back of the meat wagon, covered in cuts and burns. It's impossible," Captain Blanchard told him, emotion turning his voice shrill.

"No. That's not enough. I can make it!"

Fighting with everything he had, Haustin's pulse pounded furiously, a beast trying to escape his chest. Screams pierced the air above him and bile rushed up his throat. The fire had found something to feast on. Pain filled pleas escalated, as did Haustin's attempts at making it into the building. Four guys restrained him and finally, he gave up, accepting the awful circumstances. The screams died with his efforts, becoming strangled and unintelligible.

The other guys got to work, running hoses and doing what they came to do—damage control. Their faces mirrored his own pain and helplessness, and some sobbed silently, but it did nothing to soothe him. Shoving Alex to the side, he stalked over to the rig, a hot lump of rage lodged in his throat. All their manpower and they couldn't save one kid. Why didn't anyone try harder? Haustin slammed his fist into the side of the fire engine, welcoming the burst of pain.

Behind him, the roar of the fire continued, taunting him about what it'd taken, and he fought to control himself. Sometimes, the situation fell apart and there was nothing they could do; he knew it as much as the next fireman. That was when the guilt barreled in, eating at him relentlessly, guilt he never learned to control. He should get up and help, concentrate the water on the collapsing sides, containing the disaster and keeping the lousy gawkers back, but his body was useless lead.

They were supposed to save people, for fuck's sake.

No one bothered him as he battled to stop his plummeting mood, slumping to the ground with his back against the tire of the truck. Bodies rushed around him, shouting and executing their duty. He was an island of despair, deaf and numb to the chaotic scene. A child. A child who probably thought of firefighters as heroes. Haustin snorted. Heroes could have saved that boy.

Abel came over to where Haustin sat and stored his gear, groaning as he stretched his back. "What a goddamned mess."

Haustin grunted, words failing him. The only thing he wanted was to bury himself in a bottle of whiskey, along with a handful of pills. Not even Yael could help, not when he tumbled this far into a pit of depression. And he'd done so well lately. Today just snowballed out of his control and reining it in was impossible.

He climbed into the truck and sat beside Abel, deliberately keeping his gaze from the smoldering remains of the building. Reaching for the ever handy plastic bottle, he popped the lid and swallowed a mouthful, not caring who saw. Let them try and say something to him right now. His fist needed an excuse to act.

"How are things with Miss Park Avenue?" Abel asked with strained good cheer.

Haustin fought the urge to correct him, to tell the prick it was Fifth Avenue, not Park. Instead, he ignored his nosy friend and stared out the window, locked in his own hell and watching morning greet the city.

He could have made it to the kid. Why hadn't the damn first responders done more? Haustin gritted his teeth. Self-medicating did nothing to drown the screams he heard, begging him to cover his ears.

Six hours left in the shift, of hearing the phantom wailing in his head. Screw that.

Once they arrived at the firehouse, he calmly hung his bunker jacket on its assigned peg and, though it took a couple tries, arranged his boots below. The foggy haze followed him as he strolled through the open bay doors. Voices called from behind him, but he wasn't sure what they said. He didn't care anyway; he was done. No more of this bullshit today. His body felt heavy, arms and legs too lethargic to move, he had cotton in his ears, his mouth, everywhere, and his eyesight was a bit iffy. He approached his truck, zigzagging across the pavement. Reaching in his pocket for his keys, they slipped through numb fingers and fell to the ground.

"Sonofabitch." The words came in a slurred jumble.

Swaying, he bent to retrieve them, fumbling. In his truck, he vaguely wondered if he should be driving, but Yael's face replaced his worries. Under the veil of chemicals coursing through his system, she morphed into exactly what he needed.

He passed through a series of flashes—a red light, blaring car horns, a bottle of whiskey shattering on the floor of a liquor store, kicking the crap out of a newspaper dispenser.

Next thing he knew, he was riding the elevator up to Yael's apartment. Haustin licked his lips, tasting the warm burn of alcohol, marveling at how thick and useless his tongue felt. His dry eyes itched like hell and he couldn't stand up straight without leaning on the wall. How the hell had he made it here in one piece? Another side effect of the pills. They made him invincible, especially when paired with alcohol.

He stumbled into her apartment, unsure if she was even home.

"Yael," he called with a slur. The light streaming from the fixtures blinded him and he held up his hand to block it, squinting. Shit. Nighttime? He definitely recalled it being morning. Had he lost an entire day?

"In the gym!" she answered, startling him enough that he knocked his shin into the leather sofa.

He careened down the hall with a limp. Instinct screamed at him to turn around and leave. Yael did not need to see this.

His feet kept moving towards her.

Pausing in the doorway, he watched her jog on the treadmill. God, he loved how her body moved, so graceful and full of life. It made him feel old and broken, like his hands were too stained with blood and ash to touch her.

She hopped off the machine and wiped her face with a towel. As she came over to kiss him, he swayed. Those beautiful eyes flared with disappointment and his anger reared its ugly head, thankful to have an opening and a target.

"Oh, Haustin. What have you done?" The despair in her voice killed him.

He shrugged.

"You're high, and drunk."

"What business is it of yours how I cope with a shitty day?" he snarled, consumed by an insane need to hurt the one good thing he had going in his life. Besides, he couldn't stop now if he wanted to. His pain was a raging beast, unleashed and hungry. All he could do was watch it wreak havoc, a spectator with his hands tied and rationality spinning out of reach.

"I can't be around this, I'm hanging on by a very thin thread as it is." Her voice wavered. "Miriam took a turn for the worst today."

"Just give in," he pleaded, warming to the idea and ignoring what she said about her grandmother. "What's the point of putting yourself through the agony?"

She flinched, as if he'd hit her, and he realized dimly that, in a way, he had. It didn't keep him from trying again.

"Come on. It feels nice to not have to feel. Please."

Through gritted teeth she said, "If I go down that road again, I'll never recover. Being home, being around Miriam, has made me realize how badly I want to live." Her passionate tone glanced off his armor. "Why don't you want that for yourself?"

"Because I'm surrounded by death!" he exploded. "Every day I walk into the firehouse and see pictures of the brothers I lost. Every time I go on a call I'm either walking into possible death for myself or I have to watch those I'm meant to save die, to burn alive. Each night I close my eyes and am reminded of more carnage. I can't do anything about it!"

His heart pounded in fury, trying to force its way from his chest so hard it caused him a moment of worry.

"We're not supposed to do anything about it." She raised her voice to match his, eyes blazing. "No one can stop death from happening. No one. No matter how far you run or how much shit you pump into your body, suffering remains a reality. What do you expect to happen?"

"I want to stop hurting every goddamn second of every day." Where the hell did that come from? She reached out to touch him, but he dodged her. "I spent my life believing it when people called firefighters heroes. I craved the glory. September 11th changed everything. They still call us heroes, but how can I be one when I didn't do anything? How can they call me brave when I let so many die?"

"You didn't 'let' anyone die. It was the worst attack on American soil in history, period. They did it so there would be mass casualties. They wanted us to suffer. There's no way all those people could have survived. It's impossible."

Haustin hated how rational she sounded, and part of it pierced the black cloud boiling in his heart. But he couldn't let it go. Oh, God, why couldn't he let it go? "Maybe, but I should have died trying everything I knew to save them instead of being left behind like an empty shell."

"You saved me. Isn't that enough?" She shoved him. "How dare you stand in front of me and tell me you regret not dying? If you'd been in either of those towers with your brothers, I'd be dead. Would that help ease your consciousness? Would that make you feel better?"

The force of her reply trapped him. Of course he didn't regret saving her, but the words refused to come. He blinked, a deer caught in the headlights with nowhere to escape.

She continued, "I know you're hurting, but you have to understand the drugs are making it worse. They're confusing you. Come with me to a meeting. Now. I promise it will help."

"No. No way. Those damn meetings are pointless. I'm not a pathetic drug addict like you." Again, she flinched. "I've got this under control. I stood by helpless today and watched a little boy burn to death because we couldn't get to him. Forgive me for needing a break from reality and not running to sit in a circle with a bunch of losers." Her eyes widened and the sadness in them ate at his insides, gnawing at whatever was left of the man he wanted to be. "And don't you dare look at me in pity. I'm sick of everyone's judgment."

"Oh, Haustin, this isn't pity. It's shame. You are doing this to yourself. Not the job. Not 9/11. Not your guilt. You. Stop blaming the world and look inside." She bit her quivering lip and the action nearly undid him. "Until you figure that out and get help, I can't do this anymore. It's not healthy for either of us."

Blinded by Yael's statement, he brushed past her and stormed out, punching the elevator car wall. Who didn't have a door to slam? Goddamn Fifth Avenue apartments. Slowly, Haustin began to realize what he'd done and how epically he screwed up. The dark monster inside reached around and patted him on the back.